


Making Due

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: The Other Regan [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point, Regan has recruited The Iron Bull and Blackwall.  She has traveled with them, and Solas, to the Fallow Mire to attempt to rescue the Inquisition scouts from the avvar.  Some … things … happen, and … well, they managed to make it back to camp for a bit to rest, recoup, and resupply before heading back out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Due

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to try my hand in the Writings on the Wall thingy that Tumblr users pixiedurango and isawinsilence decided to do (partially because I never seem to write anything other than Cullen or Alistair with my OCs, because … romance). The prompt was “Dress Me Up / Buckle Up”. I suppose this one would be more along the lines of “Buckle Up”. 
> 
> This is set during The Other Regan timeline, before leaving Haven.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The Warden’s voice near boomed in the small confines of her tent.  She wasn’t entirely sure how simple canvas and fur could lend itself to such an echo, but somehow, it sounded like he was all around her.  Regan dropped the piece of armor she’d been trying to buckle around her calf and shrugged, a slight grimace the only indication something was amiss.  “Getting suited up.”

He frowned, his face taking on a dark shadow as he tilted his head down to glare at her.  “You’ve been _hurt_.”  He gestured to the arm currently in a sling and the leg wrapped in bandages.  “You shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about going out there right now.”  He crossed his arms and did his best to look menacing in the simple linen shirt and trousers he currently wore while blocking the exit.  It didn’t really work.

“Well, those avvar aren’t just going to give up and let the Inquisition’s men go.”  She returned her attention to trying to buckle on a piece of armor that was just a hair too small for her.  The armor Harritt had crafted for her had been badly damaged in a skirmish against a rather … large animal that she’d never seen before.  Harding had informed her it was called a bogfisher, and that thing had been _strong_.  Some had been so badly dented that there was no way she could wear it now.  So, she’d had to resort to scavenging.  “ _Someone_ has to go after them.”

“And you _can’t_ let someone _else_ take care of it … because the avvar want to face _you_.”  Blackwall sighed, fighting the urge to just throw his hands up and stalk out.  He had only known the Herald of Andraste for a short while … maybe a few months, give or take.  And much of that had been simple travel-time, trudging, or riding, to and from Haven to the Hinterlands, and now the Fallow Mire.  The Maker-forsaken Fallow Mire, where _she_ wanted to go traipsing about while injured.

“That’s … pretty much the long and short of it.”  Regan grit her teeth and let out a hiss as she pulled her left arm out of the sling.  “Besides, you’re not much better off.”  She nodded toward the bandage around his forearm and the wrapping she knew was beneath the shirt he wore … and the one around his thigh.  “I _should_ probably thank you for getting in between that … thing … and me, but ….”

“But …?”  He watched her expectantly, a smirk mostly hidden by his currently frizzy beard.  Yet another reason to hate this place; the humidity and the damp were wreaking havoc on his hair and making it stick out in strange places.

“But _you_ got hurt too!”  She just knew it was her fault the stupid thing attacked in the first place.  If she hadn’t gone running after those stupid corpses shambling around, Solas wouldn’t have decided to freeze the entire area around them, causing her to slide straight into a bogfisher, pissing _it_ off so that it decided to attack too.  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“So I should have let it crush you, or worse?”  Her leaps of logic were … astounding, sometimes.  

Regan glared at him for a moment and just … didn’t speak.  He was right.  Letting it crush her would have been worse.  But … that was beside the point.  “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt doing it.”  She stuck her tongue out at him and sighed, eyes dropping to the ill-fitting piece of armor again.  “At least there were some corpses with still-decent armor lying about.”

He dropped to his knees beside her, wincing at the jolt of pain that shot through his leg.  “And you shouldn’t have shot me with that arrow.”  He smiled, plucking the greave from her hand.  “Let me help you.”

“And I shouldn’t have shot you with that arrow,” she agreed, looking contrite.  She’d thought she was being slick, after Blackwall and Bull had distracted the creature.  She had left Solas to deal with the walking corpses and plucked up a discarded bow.  She’d never taken lessons with one in her life, but decided to try and pull a Sera, and it had ended up … really ineffective.  The few shots she’d managed to land before giving up had just bounced off that thing’s hide … except for the one that decided to stick into Blackwall’s thigh.  “Sorry about that.”

“All’s forgiven.”  He was pleased to see a smile, however begrudging, cross her face as he laughed.  “Let me help you get these on.”  He reached for her calf, pulling it toward him just enough to reach around once she gave permission.  “They aren’t really designed for your style of combat, but … they’ll do until we can get back to Harritt.”

His hands were surprisingly gentle as he felt his way around her calf, fastening the straps and buckles not just on the one, but both greaves.  A small part of her wished she’d found some sort of armor for the rest of her legs, but the heavy hide trousers she wore would have to do.  At least she’d managed to find what she thought was a serviceable chest-piece, though it was far heavier than what she was used to.  “Think you could help me get into the rest of this gear?”

“How do you plan on holding a blade if you can’t even suit up without help?”  He thought she was crazy, wanting to go face whatever else was out in the mire before she’d had a chance to heal fully.  Of course, _he_ was considering the same thing.  He wasn’t about to let her make the trek with one fewer body guard.  

“One of the scouts gave me a healing draught.  It should be working its magic as we speak.”

“Hold still.”  He reached for the breastplate and eyed it carefully.  It was too bulky for the type of fighting she was used to … more-so than the greaves had been.  She relied on speed … agility.  This type of plate was more suited for him … or Bull … or Cassandra.  “Wait here.”  His voice was gruff; almost distracted as he tried to think where he could get a proper breastplate for her, or at least make some adjustments.

Regan watched as he left her tent, wondering just what he was up to.  He’d taken the last piece of armor she’d managed to salvage, so she could do little other than wait … and wait … and wait some more.  Maker’s ass, she hated waiting.  She was about to storm out of her tent and find the Warden when one of the camp runners scurried over.

“Warden Blackwall asked if you’d meet him at his tent, m’lady.”  She pointed at one of the other tents and ran off again without waiting for a response, apparently off to deliver more messages, somewhere.  Regan just sighed and followed the directions.  

She pulled back the tent flap and was about to speak when a piece of metal was thrust into her hands.  There was a pair of griffons, back to back, etched into it.  The edges were slightly jagged, as if they weren’t intended to be without another piece of armor somewhere, but the straps that had been modified to actually fit around her.  And if she wore it over the padded shirt she had on currently, it shouldn’t be too bad at all.  “What’s this?”

“A breastplate.”  He stood there, watching as she looked it over.  A smile crept across his face when her fingers traced along the etching before shrugging off the leather overcoat she wore to keep somewhat dry.  He was impressed that she managed to get it even partially on with the injured shoulder.  “Let me help.”

She was struggling to get the straps fastened correctly.  The pain shooting through her shoulder had finally dulled somewhat, but it was still there … _every_ time she moved it just a hair farther than it wanted to go.  Regan twisted and turned and _stretched_ with her good arm, and still couldn’t fasten the straps correctly.  A growl of frustration slipped past her lips as a hand settled on her shoulder.

“You’re going to make it worse if you don’t stop that.”  He gently took the armor from her and shook his head with a smile.  “Stubborn woman; at least give yourself a _little_ more time to heal before you go flailing about.”  He held the breastplate up, waited for her to hold it in place with her good arm.  Strong hands moved quicker than one might expect to slide leather through buckles and pull straps tight around her.  “There.  Secure?”

She twisted around a bit, stretching and lunging and bending in as many ways as she could think of before nodding.  “Thank you.  Where did you …?”

“Just something that was … lying around.”  He shrugged, moving to start putting his own armor back on.  The under-layers were easy; padded fabric that moved with him as he pulled it on.  He didn’t really have trouble until it came to getting into his breastplate.  

Regan saw him struggling to buckle himself into an ill-fitting breastplate that looked an awful lot like the one she’d scavenged earlier … the one he’d carried out of her tent with him.  Violet eyes darted around the floor of the tent until they fell on what looked like the plate she was used to him wearing.  Or, at least _part_ of it.  “Warden Blackwall … what happened to your armor!?”  She grabbed up what was left of the plate and saw deep gouges and scratches where rivets had held on the bit with … the … griffons ….

“It was already damaged.”  He shrugged, still trying to buckle the breastplate on properly without hurting his ribs _too_ much more.  It was going to be snug, but he figured he’d be able to manage.  “You’ll get more use out of that than I would right now.”

“Maker’s flaming ass, Blackwall; why didn’t you just …?”  She dropped what was now basically scrap and stalked over, hands reaching out almost as soon as she got within arm’s reach to swat his fingers away.  “At least let me help you get into this old thing.”  Leather moved quickly through buckles and loops and fasteners as she strapped and buckled him in.  “Stupid bloody warden … ruining perfectly good armor just for me … not gonna even ask if I was OK with him wearing a dead man’s stuff ….”  She missed the sharp inhale and smiled as the last strap was secured.  “There.  And _you’re_ getting a new set as soon as we get back to Haven.”

“That’s not necess- ….”  Blackwall felt a small tinge of guilt at her words.  Did she somehow know more than she let on?  Surely not, right?

“Yep; it’s completely necessary.”  She grinned, patting him on the shoulder before looking back at the opening.  “Let’s grab The Iron Bull and Solas and go save our men.”  She turned back to him and the smile hadn’t left.  “And, Warden …Blackwall … thank you, for all your help.”


End file.
